


Dog With a Bone

by Atanih88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Car Sex, Frottage, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt - <i>Kissing in the rain.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog With a Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for stop_drop_howl, for happyevraftr's prompt Kissing in the rain. Un-beta'd and barely making the deadline! Sorry!

There's an edge to Stiles, an edge to how he's feeling right now as he slides out of the Jeep, hood up and hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

The sounds from the woods around him are drowned out under the fall of the rain, heavy sheets of it that trickle slow and cold down his face, plastering his hood to the back of his neck and sliding down the exposed skin of his wrists to soak into his pockets. It's not cold though. It's humid and it makes the Stiles feel too warm in his clothes, it makes the rain welcome as he jogs across the stretch of road and over to the parked Camaro on the other side.

His heart is a fast paced drum and stiles thinks he can hear it over the sound of the rain but knows he can't. In his pocket, he flicks his thumb against his index finger, needs to little constant movement, it helps steady him, helps him smooth out the tangled sheet of thoughts in his head so he can actually take them in, process them properly.

Except that sheet is blank right now. All he's got to go on is the rising swell of anticipation in his chest, the feeling tight and uncomfortable and Stiles' has never understood people saying it's like having butterflies in your stomach, because that never feels like butterflies, so where did that even come from? No. It's a tight feeling in his chest that is spreading with every step up to his throat and he has to swallow over and over to keep it from taking over. His stomach just feels like it's doing somersaults and that doesn't feel like "butterflies", it feels like he may be about to throw up.

There's no light in the front seats of the car, its interior looking as dark as the gleaming paint of the car that's being pelted by the rain.

Except as he takes another step, he sees a pair of eyes as they catch the reflection of the tall street lights and it looks like two green pin points inside it.

His breath shudders out of him and he flicks at his thumb faster as he licks the rain off his lips and reaches the car door. The somersaults leave him queasy but the anticipation is swelling, killing any indecision when he reaches for the door handle—

It opens before he touches it, knocking into his thigh and he jumps back, hands out of his pockets now as he holds them up, mouth fixed in a 'whoa' circle as his eyes dart back between the open door and the interior of the car.

"Get in."

His heart beats faster but Stiles just nods. "Sure. Hi Derek," he says, heavy with sarcasm and a bravado he isn't feeling, "nice to see you too on this star studded night." He slides into the seat and shuts the door.

It's like pressing a mute button. Even the smell of the rain fades away, lingering just beneath the surface.

"Uh, think you could turn a light on or something?" He shifts in the seat, lifting up off the seat, settling down again. He's tapping out a rhythm on the seat with two fingers; his foot not still either, tapping away in the foot well. He wonders if he should've popped some mints in or something, thinks he still has a mojito mint flavor in his pockets somewhere. Maybe he could get Derek to sniff it out. It could be like a game.

"Stiles!"

The bark makes him still and he swallows again and hears it click insider the car. He clears his throat and nods, stops the tapping. But he's hyper aware of his own breathing and if he strains hard enough, he can hear Derek's too.

He manages to stay quiet for a while.

"Sooo…." 

Okay, so no, more like two seconds.

God this is a bad idea. It had occurred to him that it was a bad idea after that first time—with the impromptu frotting in the woods, and yeah that'd been under the influence of the full moon and that had been a _very_ wolfed out Derek unexpectedly humping Stiles' leg—but . But it'd felt good. The fear of knowing it could turn ugly at any minute had been neatly curbed in by Derek's solid frame forcing its way between his thighs.

He still hasn't even looked Derek's way. Hasn't seen him since that night and this.

"Look, if you want to forget it, you know—forgotten," he says, holding his hands up as if to try and keep blame from being thrown around, you know, just in case Derek's feeling like knocking his face into the dashboard or something to drive a point home that that had been some kind of freak accident. Which maybe it had been. Because this was Stiles and never in his teenage life had anyone tried to hump him over the next guy— "because I can forget. Even though, you know, none of that was me—well, okay some of it was me, because hey, teenager here and it was kind of really hot, in a crazy, unbalanced, bestiality themed kind of way—"

"Stiles."

And yeah, that was definitely said between gritted teeth. Stiles swallows his next word, folds his lips together on it and presses himself back harder against the seat.

And then he finally looks at Derek, feeling like his chest is about to burst because just keeping still, keeping his thoughts calm and ordered and the anticipation swelling like a hot balloon in his chest is too much. 

Derek is watching him. His jaw is clenched, shadowed by stubble and there's a tick working there, like he's grinding his teeth or something. He's holding his body so still, it makes Stiles think of violins, how they're all taut but vibrating with the last few notes. Which is weird, comparing Derek Hale with something like a violin—although he thinks the violin can make some pretty intense sounds, hard and violent, all sandpaper rough around the edges. 

He can see the glint of green gaze from where the street lights touch on one side of Derek's face, can see the edges of his mouth, flat and tight at the corner.

But _Jesus_ , the silence is _killing_ him so he opens his mouth again and—

He's plastered back against the passenger door, his head knocking back against the glass hard enough to make him see stars instead of the low ceiling of the car. But there's heat now, plastered all over Stiles' front, hotter than the air outside had been and it heats up Stiles' wet clothes so fast.

"Oh God," that's all he manages when he feels Derek's nose, nudging up his Adam's apple. He can hear him sniffing, can _feel_ it, against his skin forcing his head back. There's a hand on top of his thigh, unyielding and pinning him down as Derek opens his mouth and those too-sharp teeth scrape all the way back down to Stiles' collarbone and gnaw on it exactly like a dog with a bone, a little too hard for it not to be painful.

"Okay—okay, just—oh god," and he can't seem to stop saying it, even as he's closing his hands around Derek's shoulders, fingers digging into warm worn leather. Derek starts sucking and there's a rumble, a low rumble that has that edge of a growl to it, like a wolf hiding in the woods, warning another animal against its territory and Derek's biting now, little quick bites.

Stiles can work with this.

He drives his fingers into Derek's hair and lets them grab at it, doesn't care that he's being rough, knows that he can be as rough as he likes and Derek will be able to handle it. He's breathing hard.

They're as tall as each other really, except where Stiles has long limbs and a good weight to him, Derek is all lean muscle and as he shifts in the tiny space of the Camaro—and seriously, why in the car?—makes space for himself between Stiles' legs just like that one time, it's kind of awkward. It's cramped and there's no place for the Stiles to go. So he adapts, like he always does, let's the jittery energy running under his skin make him pliant so he can attack Derek back and oh. Oh man.

Derek's kissing him. He's got a hand on Stiles' chin, forcing Stiles' head still and he knows that'll leave marks and he's forcing his way into Stiles' mouth, his knees up under him, back hunched and banging against the ceiling of the car as he curls up over Stiles, like he's crowding him, keeping him down. 

Again. Dog with a bone.

It's got Stiles' dick paying attention. He's spreading his legs wider, hips lifting up off the seat to get some friction going as Derek keeps tearing into his mouth like he can climb in there, and it his mouth wasn't so occupied, Stiles would tell him that that isn't actually possible, sorry. But since he can't he lets him try his best.

The air in the car is thick, musky now and when Stiles opens his eyes—he hadn't realized he'd closed them—the filmy white is spreading over the windows so that he can't see the rain drops beating down against the car window from the other side.

Derek's growling now. Honest to god growling with Stiles' lip between his teeth and Stiles can't help it, can't make the strangled sound he makes in his throat, flailing for a second because he's desperate for more movement and he can't, not with all that weight on him. So he does his best stay active here.

He sneaks his hands between them, ignores the scratching and the way it feels like his fingers get trampled just to reach between their chests and get his hands up and under Derek's shirt. And wow. Okay.

"Like a furnace," he says, as Derek lets him up for air. They're both panting, chests heaving with it and Stiles' mouth feels sore, lips stung, tongue too thick. Derek's still over him now, just breathing and staring down at Stiles as Stiles runs his hands up and over that hot skin.

Stiles looks up, feels the shudder that rolls over him when he sees Derek's low lidded gaze and realized for that actually Derek isn't still at all and there's the subtle roll of his hips, slow and firm right between Stiles' thigh. Like Derek's imagining something else.

God. It's hot. It's so hot.

So Stiles does what he always does. 

He pokes the rabid dog with a stick.

He slides down further in the seats, ignores the discomfort of the stick shift digging into the back of his thigh and curls his hips up, bringing his ass right up against Derek's cock, right where, if they didn't have any clothes between them, Derek would be butting up against his asshole.

In the dark, Derek's eyes widen for a moment and he stops moving.

Then it all goes to hell in an explosion of movement.

Derek manages to get his arms curled up and under Stiles shoulder. He fits his teeth to Stiles' collarbone. Then he starts driving down like he's trying to nail him through his clothes, hips driving hard and rough, knocking Stiles into the passenger door despite his arms holding him down. 

Stiles fumbles, fingers stupid with arousal and nerves and the smell of Derek's sweat and Derek's leather jacket—he gets his jeans open somehow, slides his palm in and fists himself and.

Derek gasps into his neck. " _Stiles_."

Mind slow, working as if wading through treacle, Stiles realizes he can smell it. Derek can probably smell the precome coating Stiles' fingers now as he thrusts into his hand, bumping up against Derek's stomach as Derek fucks up against him.

He comes when Derek bites down, teeth grinding on bone and for once, Stiles doesn't make any noise. His mouth open and his eyes staring at the roof of the car as he shudders, hips twitching and legs clenching around Derek's side as Derek comes pressed tight to his ass, shivering lightly in Stiles' arms.

And that's it. Quick as it started it's stopped.

Derek slumps against him, uncaring of the weight. But it's okay now, Stiles feels mellowed out, the energy that's always clawing at him to move, to think nonstop, has been smoothed over and calmed, tucked back into the recesses of his mind. For the time being now.

He can hear the rain again. It hasn't stopped.

"So…" he lets his legs settle back and ignores the stickiness inside his jeans, let's his hand stay there. "I guess we're not forgetting then."

Against his neck, Derek snorts. Then he licks the abused skin there. He settles again.

"Okay," Stiles says, takes a deep breath and nods, "okay I can work with that."

The End


End file.
